


Can I Make it Anymore Obvious

by cobblestaubrey



Category: Canada's Drag Race RPF, RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, guys how has no one written a fic based on that sk8er boi video Juice did, sk8er boi, tbh this isn't even about the song tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobblestaubrey/pseuds/cobblestaubrey
Summary: 'She sort of shrugs, but doesn’t care enough to make a big show of it. She makes a big show of not caring, if anything, but she doesn’t have the time to analyze the paradox there.'Juice is a punk and Lemon does ballet.
Relationships: Juice Boxx/Lemon (Canada's Drag Race RPF), Lemon/Juice Boxx (Canada's Drag Race RPF)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Can I Make it Anymore Obvious

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so idk why no one has written a Sk8er Boi fic based on Juice Boxx and Lemon after Juice Boxx’s Sk8er Boi video and the fact Lemon does ballet. So.
> 
> Idk I just randomly wrote this LOL it means nothing and there was no Point B to get to from Point A. It's sort of beta'd as in i showed it to @drivingmecrazy and she said it was good, so, yep LOL

“You know you’re not allowed out here, right?”

A pointed eye roll is all Lemon gets in return.

“Especially not with _that_ in your hand.”

The cigarette gets tossed on the ground, stomped out, and replaced with another in a matter of moments.

The blonde huffs, crossing her arms, and Juice can bet Lemon’s sticking her lip out in that stupid pout she’s seen frequenting whenever anything doesn’t go her way. She’s wearing her preppy, yellow converse, the kind rich girls wear to look like they know anything about anything. They match her dress, like always. 

Those yellow sundresses, freshly pressed, just like Lemon, are probably what earned the blonde her nickname. Juice has never been sure, and she’s never asked. 

“Then why are you out here?” Juice deadpans without ever looking directly at Lemon, and it completely stumps the other girl. The shorter girl just keeps her eyes on the other’s shoes, moving a piece of her pink fringe out of the way of her face.

Juice finally looks up, because she’s tired of seeing Lemon’s leg twitch, itching to stomp at the ground. She drags her eyes upwards, raking in every inch of the girl (Lemon’s about an inch and a half taller, but she always feels smaller, more delicate), and when she finally meets the girl’s eyes, she can see exasperation in them.

Lemon scoffs, uncrossing her arms, only to place them on her hips. “Are you checking me out?”

A lazy smirk stretches across Juice’s face. With only a subtle eyebrow raise, evident by the way her piercing moves with it, Juice is able to communicate everything she needs to.

That doesn’t stop her from being upfront, anyway.

“Yeah, Princess, my bad.”

“‘Princess’? _Really_?” Lemon asks, looking offended, and Juice gets it. It’s a cliche, but what other descriptor fits the blonde so well? She walks like she’s got a couple of books stacked on her head, and she’s all nice and shit to the bottom feeders of their big, hierarchical high school. 

She sort of shrugs, but doesn’t care enough to make a big show of it. She makes a big show of not caring, if anything, but she doesn’t have the time to analyze the paradox there. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

When Lemon starts spilling everything, Juice wonders to herself why she even bothered asking. 

The blonde cocks her head upwards, letting her hands drop from her hips. “I just needed a break from it all.” She looks back down, expectantly, but Juice says nothing. She’s not getting involved in whatever plot line Lemon’s given herself this week, regardless of how pretty she is. 

Lemon gives it another shot. “Everyone expects me to be this perfect girl, but I’m just… not.” She leans back against the brick wall of the school, letting out a big breath. 

Something about the way the light is steaming through the bleachers they’ve been hiding under is sort of beautiful, Juice surmises, by the way it highlights only portions of Lemon. Her eyes reflect it brightly, and her neck is lit up like there’s a choker wrapped around her, like the one Juice is wearing. She tries not to look at the cross necklace inches below, shining the light into Juice’s eye every time Lemon breathes in. 

“Well?” 

“Sorry I don’t feel bad that people think you’re great at shit.”

“It’s not that!” Her hands are balled into fists, and Juice definitely sees her stomp her foot. It’s juvenile, but endearing all the same. 

She shouldn't keep this conversation going. Good girls like Lemon shouldn’t be around girls like Juice. “Then enlighten me. I guess.” 

Juice is opening up another can of worms here, but it’s whatever, really. 

“It’s the expectations. One misstep and - whoops - there goes the life I’ve built up, crashing down.” She makes the sound of an explosion with her mouth, acting it out with her hands, and the smirk that had been carefully plastered across Juice’s face turns into an amused smile. 

“I feel like that’s not your problem,” she offers, keeping her eyes hooded. 

Lemon scrunches up her nose, and Juice has to will herself to not trace the wrinkles and ridges. “How can it not be?”

“I dunno, just don’t give a shit what people think?” She asks, but it’s not really a question. 

The blonde rolls her eyes. It sort of looks painful, how exasperated she is, and Juice might feel a little bad. “It’s not that easy.”

Juice snorts, shaking her head. “It sort of is.”

There’s a pregnant pause, and at first, Juice thinks maybe she’s finally got Lemon sick of her, so she’ll leave. 

But of course, it’s never that easy.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but everyone can see you care what they think.”

Juice doesn’t respond. The cigarette is just about burned out, but she holds it still, rolling it around her index finger and thumb. The toe of her left combat boot is digging into the dirt below her, but her eyes are focused straight ahead, avoiding Lemon’s own. 

“Sometimes I wonder what you’d be like, or- or look like, if you actually didn’t care.”

“Why the fuck are you wondering about me?” Juice mumbles, her eyebrows furrowed. She glares at the ground, swallowing thickly. 

Sure, they’ve shared a few classes here and there in high school, and they follow each other on a few social media accounts, and for about a week Lemon had Juice on her private _Snapchat_ story for one reason or another, but their social circles have never crossed and their conversations have never totaled more than a hundred words on a good day. 

Sometimes, she’ll think about Lemon. When the sun is creeping down, the reds and oranges splashing through her window, and she’s aimlessly tracing the ridges of her ceiling or the paint chips on her wall, she’ll allow her mind to run ramped. It’s fine, it doesn’t matter. No one has to know. Lemon’s got these strong, dancer legs, and this stupid smile that pushes her cheeks into her eyes, and a stupid high voice that always lilts up at the end, like she’s always asking a question, always wanting to learn more. Sometimes, just sometimes, she’ll think about that stuff. 

But now she knows Lemon thinks about her, too, and that scares her. 

It shouldn’t, because she couldn’t care. I mean, that’s why she dresses how she dresses and acts how she acts. Right?

Of course, fucking _Lemon_ can see through her, out of anyone. 

It’s not that Juice doesn’t like the piercings, boots, and ripped jeans. It actually makes her feel more confident than anything else. But sometimes it feels more like armor than self expression. The bracelets and leather feel heavy on her skin, reminding her that without them, she’d feel bare. Her flannels sit too hot on her shoulders during months like May and September, and her combat boots thump too loudly in the hall. 

She likes how she looks, and it’s not, _not_ her, but it keeps people away in a way that sort of stings. She has Scarlett, who’s actually punk, and doesn’t give a fuck about anything, and Priyanka, who’s loud and proud and an annoying little shit (but so, _so_ kind, and so real, in a way that clenches at Juice’s heart), but that’s about it. 

She’s never had Lemon. 

The girl in question shakes her head, taking one step towards Juice. “Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?”

“Ah, another charity case on your long list of losers,” she smiles despite herself, building back up those defenses she had felt dropping. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

Juice points at Lemon, “Pot. Kettle,” and back at herself. 

Lemon’s stare becomes cold, much colder than Juice has ever seen it. It’s cool under these bleachers, but the stare contrasts the warm sun that has sprinkled in. “You wonder why you’re all alone, when all you do is push away people who try.”

There’s that pit in her stomach again, always growing. “Fuck off.”

“No, I will not ‘fuck off’,” Juice winces, but Lemon bulldozes on. “It’s harsh, but it’s true. You sit alone out here, wishing someone would come and find you. Well, I found you, Julia!”

“You didn’t find shit,” is all Juice can say back, because she’s angry and not thinking straight. She wants Lemon gone, for, really, the first time since Lemon got here if she’s honest. 

“Maybe I would’ve if you talked to me.”

It’s not that Juice has been ignoring Lemon or anything, but she has. In the past. Why Lemon gives a shits unhinges Juice in a way that scares her. “I don’t owe you anything! Why are you fucking out here?”

“Because I knew you’d be here!”

She bristles at this. Her face scrunches up, but her body never turns away from Lemon. “Okay? So you’re a stalker?”

“Do you do this on purpose, or are you actually dumb?”

Juice laughs, incredulously. “Clearly I’m stupid, because I have no idea what you’re on about.”

It’s like Lemon decides in that exact moment that she has zero fucks to give anymore, and throws it all out on the line. “I. Want. To. Know. You. _You_.” She keeps pointing at Juice, all condescending, like Juice can't understand what she's saying.

Juice stills completely. She sort of can't understand what Lemon is saying.

“Why?”

“Because - you’re right! It should be easier for me to not care what other people think! Every day, in these stupid classes, they care about what I say, and who I talk to, and what I’m making of myself! And I don’t wanna care anymore!”

“What the Hell does that have to do with me?”

“Oh my _God_!” Lemons stalks over to her - _fuck_ , that stupid dancer strength - pushing Juice against the cool, brick wall. The shorter girl can feel the rough stone carving lines into her back, but all she can think about are Lemon’s fingers, wrapped around the collar of her shirt, pulling it tantalizingly closer. “You are so frustrating!”

Ah. It’s all a bit clearer now. 

Juice’s bravado disappeared as soon as her back hit the wall, but she musters up some of the scattered remains to bite back. “Little too close for comfort, aren’t you? What if someone sees?”

“I don’t care,” Lemon breathes out, and, then, she starts laughing. Juice kind of wants to laugh, too, but she also doesn’t want to close her eyes and miss the way Lemon’s face lights up. “I don’t care!”

“Prove it,” is all she can choke out, causing Lemon’s laughs to die down. 

It’s a carefully placed challenge. There are two options here, one that’s gonna leave a sour pit in Juice’s stomach for the rest of the year, and one that’s gonna leave a sweet taste in her mouth, and either are terrifying. 

But the choice isn’t hers anymore, thank fucking God. 

Lips, eyes, lips, eyes. Juice wants to cringe at how cliche it all is, with Lemon’s eyes flickering between the two points on her face, but the shorter girl’s breath is caught in her throat and her heart is palpitating. 

In what feels like a blink, Lemon pulls away, loosening her grip on Juice. She lets out a huge breath at the loss of contact, missing the smell of Lemon’s perfume, but ultimately knows that she wouldn’t have been able to handle anything else. 

She’s not going to cry or anything, because nothing really happened. She’s a little disappointed, and that anxiety in her chest is still wrapped around her heart, but her breathing isn’t as ragged. She closes her eyes, waiting for the other boot to drop and hear Lemon walking away. Instead, something cold and heavy lands in her hands, and she realizes that the blonde has placed her phone in Juice’s hand. 

It’s opened up, and Lemon’s vast contact list is staring up at her. 

Juice looks up at Lemon, who shrugs, a coy smile on her face. “I want to see you. More. Outside of this shit school.”

“Language,” Juice admonishes, smirking back. A cool breeze swings by, and it reminds Juice of the warmth of Lemon’s breaths. Juice's defenses are cracking, because _fuck_ , she's lonely, and she doesn't feel so lonely when Lemon is around, even if she wants to hate it. “I... I want to see you, too.” Honesty is a start, right? 

She mumbles it, but Lemon definitely hears it by the way her smirk transforms in a soft, beautiful smile. Her laugh lines are barely visible, but Juice traces them without fear. Her number is punched into Lemon’s phone in a matter of moments, and when her phone is returned to her pocket, Lemon doesn't leave, and Juice is weirdly okay with that. Juice has appreciated the last ten minutes with Lemon more than she has anything since the school year began, which sucks, because now this _means_ something. Those nights in her room, imagining something with Lemon, anything, that can be _real_. Juice doesn’t really do real. 

She could, though, she surmises. For someone special.

“Can I call you?” Lemon’s eyes are full of hope, and fear, and some third thing Juice can’t really pinpoint, because she’s still kind of an idiot most of the time.

Juice nods gently, swallowing most of the words she wants to say. “Yeah. You can call me.”

It’s not really anything. It’s not a promise, but it’s not a lie, not at all. 

A sharp ringing barely pierces through the walls of the school, but Juice knows Lemon has five minutes to get out of here before shit really goes to Hell in her perfect bubble. 

Lemon doesn’t move immediately, though. Her eyes flicker between Juice and the end of the bleachers, before she moves carefully towards the shorter girl. 

Juice sucks in a sharp breath when Lemon’s lips meet her cheek, and she can feel the blonde’s lipgloss being left on behind. 

Has Juice ever kissed someone? Uh, duh, she knows she’s somewhat hot and there have been girls before.

This though? Oh fuck, she’s screwed.

“See you later?” Lemon says, halfway between turning around to leave.

“Yeah. Maybe.” There’s no point in being coy at this point, but it’s gonna take some getting used to, for Juice, being open and stuff. “Yeah.”

Lemon smiles sweetly, and the irony isn’t lost on Juice, but she ignores it to revel in the butterflies in her chest. 

“Okay.”

With that, Lemon turns around and basically skips off to class. Something big has changed, and it sort of shakes Juice to her core, but it also excites her to no end. She’s vibrating, and there’s no one around to make her want to refrain from smiling. 

She shakes her head and chuckles to herself. She has no idea what she has gotten herself into, but for once, she can’t be bothered to care.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, here ya go! Idk how I feel about this progression bc I tried to make it not come from nowhere, but idk if the beginning makes sense with the end?? Idk. Comment maybe if you liked it??? I live off of approval LOL


End file.
